Mi Tomate
by Stepz
Summary: I’d say you’re the smaller tomato, only when people bit into it then they realize that it is as delicious and juicy as the big one.


_I do not own Axis-Power Hetalia! _

_Author's note: (which could be ignored): This is my first APH fan fiction! It is quite (really) random, and the plot is kinda (extremely) messed up so I hope it's readable to you ( BTW please excuse my horrible paragraphing). As English's not my first language so… you might have a hard time understanding my words… anyway! I do appreciate it if you would point out my mistakes and I'll try my best to fix it._

'Romano, please open the door!'

The fuming nation ignored the incessant pounding on his bedroom door. He could tell from Spain's voice that he was becoming more and more agitated. And that was exactly what he wanted.

'Serves the bastard right.' Romano muttered.

The thick-headed nation had forgotten there were actually _keys_ in the drawer of the shelf in the living room, which was lucky for Romano, he wasn't sure whether to burst into tears or punch Spain in the face if he managed to get into the room. He didn't want Spain anywhere near him now, especially, not that _painting_ he had with him. As he leaned on shaking door, his eyes strayed to the red trashcan next to his desk. Tattered pieces of what might have once been a painting lied quietly at the bottom. Romano's gaze quickly turned into a glare, he kicked the bin with all his might, unfortunately, his foot missed its target and connected with the leg of the desk, objects toppled off and clattered nosily to the floor, he let out a string of profanities as he clutched his wounded foot. And the red trashcan sat there, unharmed, mocking him, the big smiley face imprinted on it reminded him strongly of Spain. Letting out a battle cry, he grabbed the bin and flung it at the door.

---

Antonio, who was taking a break from his door-pounding, heard the racket in Romano's room. 'Romano! Are you alright?' he pressed his ear to the door, and pulled back just as the younger nation hollered,

'THIS IS ALL YOUR DAMN FAULT!'

'What have I done again…?'

---

The golden doorknob rattled as Spain tried in feeble effort to twist it.

'Go away! #&&#' Romano plopped onto the bed with his back facing the door, he pouted childishly as he examined his wounded foot. Then his attention was diverted by the piece of paper which had fluttered out of the bin during his rampage, its painted surface burnt like the mid-day sun to his eyes. Tears threatened to spill but he held them back. He wasn't like Feliciano, who would just let his tears pour and wail like there was no tomorrow in front of the other nations. He'd rather keep it to himself; perhaps holding back tears was the only thing he was good at. He had to admit that Feliciano was better than him in every aspect except that. It had been like this since they were kids. Feliciano was adorable, and he was good at everything. All the nations wanted him to be a part of theirs, yet no one ever mentioned Romano (well, maybe except France or Turkey, with ill intentions he didn't dare to ponder on), he was nothing but a mere shadow of Feliciano. He felt like fading into non-existence whenever he and Feliciano were in the same room. But he had gotten used to it then, and was pretty contented with his peaceful life, until later Spain became his caretaker.

There was a time when Spain tried to trade him for Feliciano, if Austria hadn't refused, Spain would have gladly taken Feliciano, and he wouldn't have to put up with Romano. At that time, a new feeling had surged in him that overtook his anger.

It was the fear of being replaced. Or worse, _forgotten_.

And it especially hurt that Spain was the one stirring those emotions.

It was suddenly all quiet again. Spain had stopped knocking on his door; he turned to glance at the still door, which was just vibrating under Spain's blows a moment ago. He heard something slide to the floor outside, the light that was filtering through the crack between the door and floor was suddenly blocked. It seemed that Spain had sat down. Romano was surprised that he actually felt relieved knowing that the elder nation was still outside his room, worrying sick over him.

---

'Why are you so mad at me?' Antonio whined, but he didn't receive an answer. He leaned against the door, feeling exasperated. He held up his hands and noticed that his they had a reddish tint due to all that door-pounding, it felt sore too. While he was trying to break down Romano's door, he had placed the painting on the floor; it was now lying a few inches from his feet. The painting showed a realistic plate of steaming pasta. Feliciano had arrived at his front door this morning and gave the painting to him, saying that it was a birthday present, he was so glad that someone actually remembered his birthday. However, he couldn't say it was a happy birthday today though. First off, Romano locked himself in his own room and refused to have breakfast with him. When he finally came out, looking suspiciously nervous, Spain showed him the painting he got from Feliciano. 'CHIGIIIII!!!!!' was all he said, or rather, screamed before he locked himself in the room again. Antonio trained his eyes on the painting, cudgelling his brains for what he had done to set Romano off.

Then it hit him like a ton of tomatoes.

'Romano, are you mad because of the painting Feliciano gave me?'

---

'Why-why would I be upset over some stupid painting?!' Romano immediately shouted to the door. It was a lie.

What he had wanted to say was 'about time you realize it, you prick!', but His stubbornness wouldn't let himself admit that Spain was right. When an overly cheerful Spain showed him that painting this morning, babbling about how great it is, apart from feeling crestfallen, _that_ feeling came back. It just resurfaced so suddenly that he couldn't control it.

He knew it was Spain's birthday today, he'd been working on a painting for him since yesterday, and he even skipped breakfast to finish it by today. But it seemed that he preferred Feliciano's gift, it was obvious, Feliciano's painting looked a hell lot better than his, just like when they were little, everybody praised his brother's work. He knew that he was being cynical but it was just too much. A small voice had sneered in his head, 'Why would Spain want your painting when he's got your brothers'?' He had torn up his own painting and stuffed it into the trash bin then.

'I'll never know if you won't tell me what's wrong, Romano, If you would just open the door and---'Spain pleaded again but he cut him off, 'you are so freaking persistent! Will you just leave me alone? Jackass! ' He heard a brief shuffling of feet, then light started seeping through the gap between the door and floor.

After a moment of silence, he surmised that Spain had finally given up. Though he felt a _little_ disappointment that Spain decided to leave him be, he immediately suppressed it with the feeling that Spain was too happy about Feliciano's painting to deal with him, he snorted and flopped down his bed.

He woke up to a knock on the door, and the unmistakable aroma of pasta.

'Romano… ?' Spain's gentle voice called tentatively. 'You haven't eaten anything since this morning, so I---'

'You're not baiting me with food because I won't fall for it! I thought you've given up already!' Romano sat up and rubbed the back of his neck, letting out a yawn, he added, 'I'm not hungry anyway,' but his stomach betrayed him and let out a defending roar, so loud that he thought Spain must have heard it. And the smell of freshly-cooked pasta was very tempting.

'Fine! Just leave the food there, but I swear I'll stuff tomatoes up your nostrils if you try to get in!' He heard Spain let out a sigh and the soft clink of a plate being placed on the floor. Romano hopped off his bed, being careful not to step of any objects littering the floor, he twisted the doorknob slowly, opened the door by a fraction and poked his head out. The elder nation was nowhere to be seen. He snatched the plate and darted back into his room, but before he could close the door…

Spain came hurtling through and tackled him to the floor, the force knocked the plate out of Romano's hand, showering them both with pasta.

'What the hell do you think you're doing? Get off me!' Romano struggled in vain and tried to push Spain off him, but he had his arms clamped tightly around his waist.

'If you promise me that you won't try to escape or hit me, then I'll let you go…' He wheezed. Romano grunted, he turned his to the side defiantly, and Spain took that as a yes. Romano picked stray pasta off his hair and dropped onto the bed, cursing all the while.

'Do you have to barge through the door like that?' he said incredulously, throwing Spain a venomous look.

'Sorry.' He said with a sheepish grin. '…You won't really stuff tomatoes up my nostrils will you?' Romano scoffed, he never thought that Spain would've really believed that, when he never really took anything seriously.

When Spain got up from his position on the floor and plopped next to Romano, dripping tomato sauce on his bed sheets, he threw a punch at his face. Much to his chagrin, Spain caught his fist in mid-punch, 'No hitting, Romano, remember?' he yanked his fist out of his clutch and hissed, 'Off my bed.' Spain got off rather reluctantly, finding an empty space on the floor. 'Why, Romano, your room's in a mess!' He gestured at the objects that had fallen off the desk, and the red trash bin, which was hanging on the lamp on the ceiling. How it had gotten up there was a mystery. 'Thanks to you.' Romano mumbled, as Spain grabbed tissues from the tissue box to dab at stains on his cream-coloured shirt Then he pushed some objects aside and sat down in front of Romano. Romano caught the elder nation watching him as he examined his own spoiled shirt, 'What?' he concentrated on cleaning his shirt, looking anywhere but at Spain. After a moment of awkward silence, Spain remarked casually, 'Did you draw this?' Romano looked at him, he held up a piece of paper in his hand, which was stained with sauce. He recognized his torn-up painting immediately. He made an attempted to grab the piece back but Spain held it away from him. 'Give. It. Back.' He managed in an even voice. Spain gazed at the piece with pity, 'Why did you tear it up?' he said, running his fingers over its surface. 'It's none of your business, Antonio! Because I didn't draw this for you! And it looks like shit compared to Feliciano's painting, so why do you care! You thick-headed, tomato-loving, son of a---' 'So it _is_ about the painting.' Spain interrupted quietly. 'I didn't expect you to react this way…' Romano felt himself taking deep breathes after his outburst, there was a stinging sensation behind his eyelids. He blinked to make it go away, but it only forced the tears out. Spain stood up and attempted to brush them away, but he slapped his hand. 'I'm an idiot, aren't I?' he clutched his hands into tight fists. He could feel his face heating up. 'Wasting all my time on a stupid painting just to give it to you as a birthday present, when you've already got a much better one! Go on, laugh at me, say whatever you want!' through his blurry vision, he saw Spain pulled out a chair and sat on it in front of him. 'I never said that I preferred your brother's painting over yours, Romano.' He said plaintively. 'You were babbling over it like it was the best thing you've ever seen in the world, do you know how I felt at that time? You are always like that, fawning over Feliciano and the things he did, _everybody_'s like that! What about me?' he paused to wipe his tears furiously with his arm. Spain handed him a tissue but he didn't take it. 'I do not deny that I was like everybody before. I was wrong. But I'm not like that anymore.' Romano glanced at Spain, who was looking at him with his emerald eyes, and for once, he thought Spain looked deadly serious. 'You might not be as good as your brother, but you're special, at least, to me.' Romano looked up and saw Spain smiling at him, he immediately adverted his gaze, feeling himself go crimson again. 'So…I'm sorry, Romano.' He felt a warm hand ruffle his hair, he felt himself lowered his head and mutter 'Bastard.'

'Can I have my present then?'

'It's torn up already…'

'I can stick it back together!' Spain beamed, looking all happy again. He got up and scrounged around the room, collecting the pieces of painting.

Spain managed to put the pieces back together. Despite that there were red blotches on it, it showed a field full of tomatoes. And in the distance, two figure stood harvesting them. Romano blurted before Spain could comment on it,

'I swear that those two are not you and me, they're just random people, you understand, random people!' He lowered his head to hide his blush.

'I know, I know.' Spain replied, a ghost of a smile flitted across his face. 'You know what, Romano?'

'What?'

Spain pointed to the biggest tomato in the painting, then his fingers slide to rest on a small, insignificant tomato, 'See these two tomatoes? If Feliciano is the bigger tomato, then I'd say you're the smaller one.'

'Stop comparing me with vegetables (or is it fruit?) ! Are tomatoes the only stuff in your brain!?'

Spain continued with a serene smile, 'Only when people bit into the smaller one then they realize that it is as delicious and juicy as the big one.' 'That's what I feel about you after I've known you, _Mi tomate_.' He added.

'What're you talking about?' before Romano could question any further, Spain changed the topic.

'Come on, let's go and take a shower together, we're going to France's place, he phoned me and said he's got a surprise for me.'

'Did you just say "together"? Like hell I'll shower with you! You dirty pervert!' Romano dashed into the bathroom and slammed the door before Spain could have a chance to get in.

'I was just joking…' Spain sighed, and helped Romano tidy up his room.

The surprise was a strip party.

Romano of course wasn't happy about it. When they entered through the front door, a nude France came diving at them, Romano rolled out of the way but Spain got stripped, he didn't seem to mind though. Even the stern Germany was invited, the disgruntled look on his face told him that he was being forcefully dragged here by his brother, Prussia, and Feliciano. Though he disliked Germany, it amused him to no end when he got stripped by France and Prussia, and ended up wearing nothing but red boxer shorts (Feliciano told him that he gave him those last Christmas). Romano had hid in a corner behind the sofas, in case France forced him to strip too. Unfortunately, he got caught at the end. When the party was finally over, Romano and Spain had to steal shrubs from France's garden to cover their 'vital regions', France had threw their clothes into the fireplace, ranting something like, 'Experience the art, of being NUDE!'. They were lucky that Switzerland wasn't around to go trigger-happy on them (NUDE RUN FORBIDDEN! I shall wipe your blasphemes existence from the world map!).

When Romano collapsed on the bed that night with Spain, he found that the _feeling_ was gone, no longer troubling him. Spain mumbled something about tomatoes in his sleep and snaked his arm around him, he fell asleep in his warmth.

_Mi tomate= my tomato in Spanish_

_To whoever managed to finish the story without getting brain damage: Thank you for reading my horrible fanfic! Eh… review? =)_


End file.
